Super Suicide Society
by elegantideas
Summary: Gene's life was never the same after Phineas died. He goes to surprising lengths in an attempt to cope with his guilt, though he will not admit how he feels. Rated T for this story's themes just to be safe.


Summer days in New England are eventful. With their gentle warmth and an ability to draw even the most reluctant outside, anything can happen. For example, one summer day in 1942 proved to be especially significant in the life of a certain student at the Devon School.

Gene Forrester looked out the window. Sun rays shone in blindingly, penetrating the still air of his stodgy kitchen. After he came home from the war, Gene had purposefully sought out the plainest home he could find. The kitchen table at which he sat was a dull, marred wood of an unspecified type. The walls that surrounded him were white wallpaper with miniscule faded pink roses to keep the house from projecting too sterile of an atmosphere, as Gene wished his home to feel commonplace, not as though he was living in an asylum. And he was content with this blandness. His friendship with Finny had given him enough variety, enough spontaneousness, enough surprises, to last a lifetime.

Through the glass in the windowpane he could hear the gleeful cries of his neighbor's children. Every Saturday morning that summer, those children had flocked to that tree like metal to a magnet. Their doing so made Gene quite anxious. He watched them take turns climbing it, fancying that he could hear them dare each other to reach a higher limb. At long last, Gene knew what he must do.

He stood up and thrust his chair aside, as erect and as proud-looking as a knight about to begin his quest. Projecting such bravery that he even fooled himself for a moment, Gene marched out his front door voluntarily for the first time since his return to Devon three years ago.

_Eighteen years, _Gene thought to himself. _Eighteen years since I graduated._ He remembered his visit during the fifteenth year since his graduation. Everything was still the same then, and Gene had every reason to believe that nothing had changed since. The grounds, the school, everything was preserved in the way it had been in 1943. Everything except for the tree.

The difference had been subtle; Gene did not even notice it on his return visit. But in his loneliness, Gene had dwelled more and more upon that tree, and so was able to spot the change. It took him a while to put a finger on what it was, but as soon as he had, he felt foolish for not noticing it sooner. The tree was dead, completely devoid of any of the splendor that Finny had once hailed it for possessing. But this was not the difference, as Gene had finally realized. The difference was in himself. The tree had merely reflected that.

With one look at his neighbor's tree, he knew that it was dying as well. As he approached it, he spotted a few dead limbs hiding sullenly in the presence of their vibrant and robust counterparts. They were all higher on the tree where the children could not reach.

A little boy of about five years turned abruptly and pointed at Gene. "What are you doing here?"

"Yeah, did you come to tell our daddy on us?" questioned another boy. Gene estimated him to be of about seven years of age.

Gene chuckled at their innocence. "Of course not. I wouldn't dream of doing that."

A little girl stepped forward from behind her brothers and demanded boldly, "Why are you here then?"

"To show you how to _really_ climb a tree," Gene replied with a smile directed toward the children.

"Mister," the final and oldest boy shoved his sister aside as he spoke, "don't you think you're dressed a little fancy for climbing a tree?"

"Yeah, don't you think you're a little old too?" the youngest boy remarked casually.

"No, no, you just watch me," Gene instructed as he groped the tree in search of a beginning foothold. He had a fleeting idea of how ridiculous he must look, but he pushed that thought away as he found a foothold and began to climb.

A thrill rushed through Gene's body as he ascended. The bark of the tree was coarse, but it steadied his hands as he grabbed for a limb to pull himself up by. He had forgotten how exhilarating climbing trees was, as he had not done so since that fateful summer day in 1942. _Perhaps this is precisely the way Finny felt…_

Gene's foot slipped and he nearly fell, saving himself by taking hold of a branch in the nick of time. He thought of how enthusiastic Finny was about his creation, the Super Suicide Society of the Summer Session and how eager he was to jump out of a tree and force others to do the same as an initiation. "Once a member always a member," Gene murmured sadly and continued to climb.

"Look at how high he's getting!" the little girl squealed. All four of the children undoubtedly stood transfixed as their neighbor scaled a tree, as agile as a man of eighteen.

Gene looked up and saw that he neared the dead branches at the top. He smiled. The sensation of vitality that had overtaken him was slowly fading, and he reminded himself that he was no longer the student that he once was. But still, his ambition was as clear as ever, and he kept going.

At last, he reached the first of the dead branches and hoisted himself up onto it. This was met by an approving chorus of "aahh" from the children. He squatted on the dead limb like a frog, then took a deep breath and forced himself into a standing position. Where Gene stood, the branch was thick enough across to fit one of his feet, but it grew thinner and thinner until it finished in a spindly tip.

"How did he get that high?" the little girl gasped in awe.

"I don't know," the middle boy whispered loudly enough for Gene to hear him.

"I'd be scared if I was up that high," the youngest boy admitted shamelessly, then punched his eldest brother on the shoulder. "How come he isn't scared?"

The oldest boy shielded his squinting eyes from the sun and peered up at Gene. "Yeah, mister. How come you aren't afraid? Aren't you scared of, you know," he paused and shrugged his shoulders as if to convey the obvious, "dying?"

Standing on the branch, Gene felt finally at peace, though he knew what he must do next, for he could not remain on that branch forever. "Oh no, my boy," Gene shook his head and walked heel to toe like a trapeze artist to the thinnest end of the branch, waiting for it to become too fragile to support him and then snap under his weight. "I died long ago."


End file.
